Sindey City: Winter Troubles
by Guille van Cartier
Summary: A mass crossover of most of Disney's movies. This story follows the lives of three citizens of Sindey City as they try to deal with the troubles that come with Winter, from electoral campaigns to school and first love. AU, Read and Review
1. Chapter 1

**Sindey City: Winter Troubles**

**By Guille van Cartier**

**Author's Note: Sindey City... an amalgam of all Disney animated movies all poured into a single mold to create... a crossover fanfic. I know that not many people appreciate crossovers... but the reason I write them is because I want to know how the characters would react to one another... Sindey City: Winter Troubles was the first of three concepts of the Sindey City world that I had come up with, but it will probably be the only one that people would see. ANYWAY... this story follows the lives of three characters: Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, Jim Hawkins, from Treasure Planet, and Casey Frollo (or Quasimodo as most know him) from Hunchback of Notre Dame. Several ages have been changed, but I hope characters are still intact. So, if you're there, read and review, if you please! OH YES! AND TO SPAZTIC ARWEN! I'm expecting at least one review, and that's from you!

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**Disclaimer: I do not own pretty much anything in this story except the plot... I think. Everything belongs to Disney. I'm just playing around.

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**Chapter One**

**Belle**

It was a gloomy Sunday morning in Sindey city. Snow dropped onto the tight cluster of pointed skyscrapers, swirling downward in a flood of white while supported on the back of the loudly howling wind. The sounds and sights of normal day were seemingly lost in the overcrowded metropolis, reduced to little more than a muffled honking of car horns and the blurred sight of traffic jams and crowded sidewalks. Above, the sky beyond the snow was gray with clouds, the city air flustered by the prospect of a hard blizzard.

It was election time in Sindey city, one of the busiest times in the entire year, and winter was hewing its unfortunate course through the congested conurbation.

It seemed that despite the cold, demanding weather, many of the city's workers and inhabitants had decided to brave the ice-filmed walks that veined alongside its monstrous buildings, risking both life and the day's pay in that single excursion. Upon the narrow boulevards, herds of people, appearing to be no more than a mass of dark business suits and open umbrella tops, walked along, struggling against the gale. Suitcases were gripped protectively, important documents held beneath the closed flaps of overcoats, and hats were jammed unceremoniously atop heads in an attempt to persevere unscathed. Little more than car-less, business underlings seemed to trek along the dangerous walks, though the streets, jammed and barely moving as was usual that time of year, seemed little better.

Walking with obvious effort in one of the laboring herds was a young woman, unusually discernible amongst the collection of expensive clothing. She was pretty, with long brown hair that fell behind her, held in a ponytail, the hood of her pink, fur-trimmed parka barely clinging to it, apparently blown off during her time outside. She wore a blue dress, which blustered about her legs, both in heavy stockings, revealing the tops of her leather, winter boots. In her gloved hands was a pile of papers, an ungodly _large _pile, mind you, which she held onto with all the strength that she could muster, fighting every one of its threats to blow away.

Belle was thoroughly unhappy about her situation, though she had little mind to reflect upon those feelings at that moment. She had done her best in researching for the election, and had, she thought, done a bang-up job with the task, but she doubted the group that she worked for would be able to see what she had produced. The snow was thoroughly dampening the sheets already, Belle having no overcoat large enough, no matter how hard she may look, that would accommodate the evil-looking bunch. And already, the wind was trying to undo it, the pile barely kept together by the pressure of her hands and the slight weight of dozens of binder clips. Not to mention the fact that she might not make it to the meeting on time; she had already been late that morning in leaving, not even taking the time that she normally did to read her email. She could have gotten there punctually had her car been available.

In fact, when she had woken up she had counted on that fact. But, unfortunately, her father, whose car had broken down just the day before, had need it to help his friend, who had asked old Maurice that favor because _his_ car had broken down days before as well. Belle had agreed grudgingly; she supposed that a visit to the hospital was more important, though, she thought now, not by too much.

"Well, I hope you're having a great time at your doctor's appointment, Mr. Doppler," she said beneath her breath as she narrowly avoided losing a sheet of paper, grabbing it with one of her fingers just before it flew off with the white-tainted wind.

Suddenly, not half a mile away, Sindey's central clock rang out in a loud, clarion chime, strangely audible in the unhappy swirl. Belle stiffened at the noise, stopping in her tracks as she listened, forcing those that walked in that mechanical group to flow about her like a sort of human river. When the ring of the last peal died down, Belle let out a disconsolate groan.

"I'm going to be late!" she proclaimed anxiously. Madame DeChâteaupers would not be happy with her if she arrived tardy, if the woman would even let her into the meeting at all. This was horrible!

"Time to hurry it up, Belle!" she told herself strongly, a look of sudden determination claiming her face. She shifted the weight of the papers into a more comfortable position, and taking in a deep, biting breath, she made a break for it.

Belle sped along the slippery sidewalks, stepping on unlucky toes and screaming back half-heard apologies to their owners. She stumbled once or twice in her desperate sprint, a shock that served as only a minor disturbance, and she barely caught herself before falling onto the black asphalt of the streets when she made a sharp, almost forgotten turn. She hurried past buildings, jostled people accidentally as they walked unknowingly out of revolving doors, saying millions of sorry's as she tried to get to the rented hall that held the group's meeting.

Finally, she reached her destination, pushing against the bar handle of the metal door with her back, still clutching tightly the papers. She entered the lobby briskly, receiving several stares from those around her that she ignored easily, and she made her way toward the elevators.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, hurrying to an elevator whose doors were coming to a slow close. She stepped between the metal gates, holding them so that she could make her way in, and she managed to squeeze into the crowded compartment, the unhappy group morphing with a few miserable groans to allow her and her ungodly pile space. Belle found a spot in the corner of the elevator, stopping just as the twin doors shuddered to a creaking close. She let out a relieved sigh as the elevator made a short jerk upward, slowly climbing to its first destination. She didn't have to worry about pressing the button for her floor; practically all of them had been pressed, most of the panel glowing a cheery shade of yellow.

"Belle, is that you?"

The young woman turned to whoever had spoken, catching sight of one Aurora Stephenson, an attractive friend of hers with a voice as golden as her hair.

"Hello, Aurora," Belle greeted her politely, a subtle smile, only slightly forced, coming onto her face.

"It is you!" her friend exclaimed chattily. "It's been ages, hasn't it?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, only half-listening, watching the glowing floor buttons with a mild impatience as the elevator arrived at its first stop. A few people spilled out of the compartment as the doors opened up, causing several uncomfortable movements by the group, before the elevator once again closed its entry and started upward with its slight but familiar jolt.

"You haven't been at any of our little princess parties," Aurora said, referring to some selected days when they got together with several of their old friends (who long ago dubbed themselves the Sindey princesses) and had something of a tea party. Belle, of course, had to miss the past few that had last come around, too busy with the information jobs that she had been assigned.

"I know," Belle replied contritely. "And I'm sorry about that. You know I would've loved to come, but I've been so busy, lately."

"I can tell," Aurora replied, her eyes falling upon the enormous pile of papers that Belle was clutching to protectively. "What's all that for, anyway?"

"It's information that Mme DeChâteaupers needs for the election," she answered, looking over her pile of papers in a proud but tired way. "Things like statistics, polls, background checks..."

"Background checks?" Aurora asked unsurely, raising an eyebrow at the stapled and binder-clipped pile.

"Don't ask," was the only reply that she received from Belle, who shook her head wearily at some supposed memory. "It's a lot of hard work... more than I've done in a while."

"You must be exhausted," Aurora said, a note of sympathy evident in her voice.

"Oh yeah," Belle muttered, nodding her head. "But, at least I got here on time," she added with a smile. "And without a car, too!"

"You walked here all the way in this weather?" Aurora asked incredulously, her eyes widening at the news. "You're a brave woman, Belle!"

"My father needed the car," she told her. "His old friend has a cold and needed a ride." Belle let out a happy sigh, feeling a subtle lightness as the elevator slowed, nearing its second destination. "It's weird, but I feel lucky today."

"You shouldn't say things like that," Aurora warned her, shaking a finger. "You might jinx it."

"Jinx it?" Belle repeated, laughing slightly. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Your floor?" Aurora inquired as the compartment came to a shaking stop, seemingly ignoring Belle's previous question.

Belle shook her head.

"No," she replied, a quizzical brow lifted in her friend's direction. "Why--?"

Suddenly, the whole of the crowd seemed to jolt forward, pushing out of the elevator even before both doors had pulled open. Belle let out a surprised scream as she was pushed unceremoniously against the elevator's wall, closing her eyes tightly as the stampede of people rampaged outward, waiting for it to come to an end. Finally, she heard the elevator's closing chime and she opened her eyes, only to see that the compartment now held less than half of its original riders, and that practically all of her papers had been scattered onto the floor. Belle looked, shocked, at the number of documents that riddled the once clean elevator floor, their black and white faces now smudged with muddy footprints, their edges crumpled and torn. It took all the self-control within her to keep her from screaming.

Aurora knelt down, pulling a soiled sheet toward her guiltily.

"I'm sorry, Belle," she said, glancing up at her friend with a regretful look. "It's been the busiest floor for a week... I've been working her for a while, so I knew and... I suppose I should've told you..."

Belle, though decidedly angry, let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head unhappily. "It's alright, Aurora," she said, joining her friend on the floor in an attempt to reformulate the pile. She glanced unhappily at her wrist watch, the appointed time of the meeting coming closer. Shaking her head, she returned to her work, chatting with her friend about life's frustrations all the while.

In the end, she, Aurora, and one considerate young woman named Anita Radcliffe, had remade the stack, though it was obvious that it wasn't the same. It was very much away from its original order, but Belle had decided there was little time to be worrying about something like that at the moment. Not to mention the fact that it had turned to be slightly more horizontal than it had been beforehand, spreading between both of Belle's arms like an untrustworthy bridge. But, as long as she had the papers in hand, the young woman showed little care about it. They had just finished before the elevator halted at her floor, and, with many thanks, she left Aurora and Anita behind. No one left with her; she supposed the person who had pressed the button had done it by accident.

Belle made her way toward the meeting room, whose large twin doors she spotted just beyond the short hall that she was walking down. She entered the waiting room that existed just before the two doors, where two sofas and an array of chairs were set against the white walls for anybody to sit. All were empty but for one of the armchairs resting beside a thin-legged desk with flowers. In that seat, there was a young woman, pale as the snow that shared her name, tapping constantly the keys of the notebook that she had on her lap.

Belle approached the two doors at the end of the room, glancing at Snow questioningly for a moment. She stood before the entrance, staring unhappily at the two curved handles that sat easily upon the door's white faces. She realized that she couldn't open it with all the things that she was carrying.

Sighing, Belle made her way over to the sofa on one side of the room, putting down her tainted pile. She hurried back to the doors, and grabbed one of the handles, and tugged it hopefully. It wouldn't budge.

"The doors are locked," she muttered in disbelief, pulling on the knob again to no avail. "The doors are locked!" she repeated, staring at the handles in shock. She listened quietly to the muffled discussions she could hear going on beyond the white-painted wood before her. Biting her lip unsurely, Belle lifted a gloved fist to the surface of the door, preparing to knock.

"I don't think you should do that," a soft voice said behind her. "It would upset Mme DeChâteaupers if you interrupted the meeting."

Belle turned about to face Snow, who had finally looked up from her laptop, her fingers still twitching above the keyboard despite the slight pause.

"Interrupt the meeting?" Belle inquired, confused. "But, I'm only a minute late!"

Snow White-Charming looked at the girl questioningly, closing her notebook quietly. "Belle, the meeting started an hour ago!"

"An hour ago?" Belle asked in disbelief, walking away from the door toward her coworker, who nodded her head in reply. "But I was told the meeting was at eleven!"

"It was changed to ten at the last minute," Snow informed her. "It was in the memo..."

"There was a memo?" Belle asked, obviously shocked at the news.

"Yes... we sent it out yesterday. Don't you read your email?"

"No..." Belle replied truthfully, letting out a whining sigh. In a defeated motion, she took a beaten seat beside her disorganized information, looking at the non-stack with a sort of gloomy disgust.

Snow White-Charming looked at the young woman quietly, feeling a touch of sympathy at her predicament. Placing her notebook on the table beside the vase of flowers, she made her way to the loveseat and, nudging the pile of papers aside, took a place beside Belle. "You've had a hard day, haven't you?"

"I guess you can say that," Belle replied with a slight laugh.

"It's because of this horrible weather, that's what it is!" Snow said resolutely, nodding her head at the thought. "Maybe if it were sunny out, we wouldn't all be stressed out!"

"And maybe if it weren't election time," Belle added.

"Yes, that too," Snow acceded. "Mme DeChâteaupers is very serious about this year's elections... I'm afraid that maybe she's trying a little too hard this year."

"It makes sense," Belle told her. "The current mayor is a biased pig... the only reason the crime rate's down is because he's throwing anybody and everybody who doesn't wear a business suit and polish their shoes in jail."

Snow nodded at the grim reality, the cold feeling toward one Sindey Mayor Claude Frollo rising. Frollo seemed to be irrational about a lot of issues, including religion, rank, race, and, in a quaint and alliteration-breaking manner, women. Though it was obvious he tried hard to hide his prejudiced ideas from the public, many people had experienced firsthand the unfriendly impression. Enough people, it appeared, that many had lost confidence in his governing.

"Do you think that people will listen to Mme DeChâteaupers, Belle?" Snow asked anxiously. "I mean, she isn't exactly what most would consider being a mayor of a city. After all, she _is _a woman, not to mention a—"

"Don't say such things," Belle broke in, an annoyed look on her face. "Of course they'll listen to her; they'll have to. Sindey's not doing very well nowadays, Snow. If they don't notice it, then they're blind, and we're going to do our best to help them see."

Snow nodded, obviously unsure, but nevertheless inspired by her coworker's words. "We'll show them, right?"

"Yes, we will!"

Both of them raised their fists, punching the air in a triumphant gesture. After a moment, one white door creaked open to the side, and the head of Jane Porter peeked out at the two associates.

"Excuse me," she began, bringing both women's attentions to the door. "Yes, um, would Belle please come into the room? Mme DeChâteaupers has been waiting for her."

"Oh yes!" Belle said suddenly, shooting off of the chair and picking up the pile of stepped on papers from its spot beside Snow White-Charming. Bowing her head politely at Snow, she made her way to the twin doors, and stepped into the room. The meeting restarted promptly.

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**Author's note: Well, that's the end of the first chapter. I hope I did well. You tell me what you think! Read and Review! Constructive Criticism, please, and no blatant flames; that's just mean.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Aww... Spaztic didn't review... But happily, others did, so I didn't give up the story completely. This chapter centers around Jimmy-poo... He was sort of difficult for me to write for; I suppose that he has so many feelings going about in his head I never really am sure how he's going to react to certain things... But I think I did an okay job... if it doesn't look awkward when i movie-fy it in my head (that is, I actually watch them act out the scene before I write it down), then it's not bad... I guess. Thank you all for reviewing! And no one, I repeat, no one is weird for thinking that Jim is hot. READ AND REVIEW!**

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"James Pleiades Hawkins, where do you think you're going?"

Jim stood silent, his hand stopping above the brass of his front door's knob, pausing at the sudden and familiar tones of his mother Sarah's voice. Though he could not see her, Jim could imagine easily how she looked, well-accustomed to such reactions on her behalf. She was probably standing behind him, with her hands planted determinedly on her hips, her mouth turned upside down into an unhappy frown. Jim knew that she was waiting for an answer, something that the fifteen-year-old boy wasn't sure he wanted to give.

"It's a little early to be going out with your skateboard don't you think?" Sarah continued. "You know they don't permit those at your school."

Jim remained quiet, the fingers of his left hand making a tighter, almost protective hold on the beat-up old skateboard that he had tucked under his arm. It was indeed early, the hands on their wall clock barely hanging past six o' clock, and the sun had yet to begin its rise. But, Jim was used to this time, long-accustomed to waking up much earlier than that, but he said nothing to his mother about it.

"Yeah, whatever," he replied at last, his voice ringing with the same defiant note that it had developed over the years. He heard a heavy sigh from behind, his mother probably unhappy at the uncouth response, followed by a soft, padded noise, Sarah most likely taking a step toward him.

"Jim, where were you going?" she asked again, her voice closer, the weary but dogged nature further revealing itself. "Your suspension ends today, you know," she reminded him. "You should be going back to school."

The teenager let out a sigh at the thought, an unhappy expression further darkening his face.

"Great," he mumbled sarcastically. She had remembered about school. He had expected her to, but he had hoped that that day would present a better opportunity for the young man to once again sneak away from it all. It had worked out easily before. Wake up early, sneak out, mom would think he was at school, no problems to deal with until the phone calls began. He hadn't expected her to actually try and catch him in the act, but apparently he had underestimated his own mother.

"Jim?" Sarah said, her tired, motherly voice cutting through the thick silence that had followed Jim's muttered word. Jim shook his head, running a hand through his thick brown hair. He would have to face her sooner or later; Sarah would never let him ignore her.

"Mom, I—" he began, turning from the door, an excuse forming quickly in his mind.

"Wait," Sarah interrupted, putting up an ordering hand to halt her son's speech.

Jim let out another sigh, inwardly shaking his head at his mother's shushing of the answer that she had been waiting for. Annoyance took his eyes, which rolled secretively behind the veil of his brown hair, and he looked away from his mother for a moment, wondering whether or not it would be possible for him to sneak away after this.

"If you're going to lie to me about," Sarah began, returning Jim's attention to her words, "I want you to make it a good lie."

Jim let out an exasperated groan, and he glared at her unhappily. "Mom," he snapped irritably. "Look—"

"I want you to tell me something that would make sense," Sarah continued, ignoring Jim's starting words, "not something that I want to hear, like 'I'm going to school' or something like that, okay?"

Jim scowled at her openly, almost baring his teeth. "What makes you think that I'm not going to?" he questioned her indignantly, though a strong and almost uncanny truth rung in every word that she had spoken. "Like you said," he added bitterly, "my suspension ends today!"

"Do you really want me to tell you why, Jim?" Sarah asked angrily, her irritation seeming to grow at her son's impolite tone. "I'll tell you why! Because, the reason that you were suspended in the first place is because you ditched class every other day! If I remember correctly, you disappeared around this time since the beginning of the year, and here I was thinking that you were just going to school a little early!" Sarah let out an ironic laugh. "Can you believe how stupid I was?"

Jim's eyes widened at Sarah's words, and a strong sensation of guilt suddenly began seeping into his previously self-based thoughts. He had never before heard his mother talk herself down like that, never even once in sarcasm, and now, to hear her rambling on in such a way…

"Mom," Jim began, shaking his head.

"How are you expecting me to believe that you are actually going to go back to school after you've been banned once?" Sarah asked him vehemently, an intense emotion straining her already worn voice. "Do you want me to look stupid again?"

"Mom," Jim began suddenly, outraged and hurt by the accusation, "that's not it!"

Sarah shook her head, letting out a sigh, familiar in its weariness. "Jim, please," she said, presenting him with another interjecting palm. "Just tell me. Where are you going?"

"I'm—" Jim opened his mouth, a ready-made answer just about to reply to her question. He closed it quickly, thinking against it. Letting out a tired sigh, he leaned his skateboard against the wall beside the door, and looked at Sarah in the eye steadfastly. "Mom," he began, "I'm going to school."

A disbelieving sough greeted his words. "Jim," Sarah started, sending him a disappointed look.

Jim moaned unhappily, his hands clutching in frustration, his grim frown deepening in further gloom.

"Look mom," he cried, "why can't you just trust me on this?"

"Because, I know you just enough to understand that I can't depend on you to do that!" she exclaimed.

Jim felt his heart almost stop at the reply, the obvious truthfulness in its tone striking him momentarily mute. A feeling of deep hurt began to tighten his chest, and he felt a thick stickiness starting to overpower his throat. "So," he said slowly, working hard past the difficulty that was slowly conquering his voice, "you don't trust me, is that what you're saying?"

Sarah stopped at the question, apparently startled by the tone in which it was asked. Jim sent her a long and demanding look, his eyes never straying for a second away from her own. Finally, Sarah spoke, confusion apparent in her tone.

"Jim, I just don't know anymore," she said candidly, looking down at the floor, away from his questioning eyes. "Not with you."

Jim stood there quietly, his attention still planted sternly on his mother's invisible eyes, the meaning of her final weary words slowly sinking into his mind. Guilt, before then half-hidden beneath the ruse of anger and annoyance, slowly surfaced, and the wet film of tears took Jim's blue eyes. He turned from his mother, his back falling into its familiar, melancholy slump, and he once again lifted his hand to the door knob.

"I'm going to school," he told her shortly, staring disconsolately at the brass of the old handle.

He heard his mother repeat his name yet again, and the remorse that he had felt beforehand was once again overwhelmed by teenage spite.

"I'm going to school!" he repeated, turning round once more to scream these words at her before brusquely returning to the door, wrenching it open, and stepping out into the biting cold that awaited him outside. Without closing the entrance behind him, Jim pulled the collar of his black jacket about his face, and, tucking his hands deep into his pockets, he made his way down the snow-covered walk as his mother watched him, speechless, from inside.

Sarah regarded her son as he trudged through the snow, whose fall had stopped but hours before, until he disappeared, turning behind a block of houses nearly identical to their own. She looked out at the new, gray morning for a long while, even past her son's departure, until finally, with another heavy sigh, she closed the door and went to the kitchen for a well-deserved cup of coffee.

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It was too early for Jim to go gallivanting back into Sindey High, though it was undeniable how far a distance he had to go. SHS was just within the limits of the nearby city; Jim and his mother lived in the neighboring suburbs, in a block of familiar houses that lined the curves of the typical cul-de-sac. Though buses were provided for those who lived that much of a distance from the school, Jim had preferred walking to this choice on the days that he had, for some reason or another, decided to attend his classes. He never had fancied the crowded, pungent qualities of the old yellow school buses, and besides, freedom seemed to be a quality that he treasured above the rest.

Jim's usual route followed along the main street of his neighborhood, then, when he met the highway, along the railed banks of Roy Lake. It was a large body of water, which formed a natural barrier between the major part of Sindey City and its surrounding towns. Before long, Jim would come to the Walter Walk, which consisted mostly of a large system of boardwalks that spread around a good portion of Roy's shore, and even a nice ways over the lake itself. It was like a suspended Carnival area, covered in food and game stands, which were long since deserted at the moment. The last that they had been used was at the beginning of January, when their town had, for the first time, adopted a festival that had been abandoned by the rest of the world. When they would next be used, Jim knew well was coming up soon, in perhaps, less than a month. Sindey would be celebrating their new mayor.

There was, though, a portion of the walk that had not been vacated. It was a pretty restaurant that stood just beside the lake. Usually used for formal eating, it seemed strangely out of place amongst the more casual eating stands that stood just yards away from its entrance. And yet, it had good business, drawing both people from the suburbs and the city almost year round. Jim had never been inside; he and his mother could not afford to eat there, no matter how hard Sarah dreamed. Jim had once promised her that he would take her there someday, but that kind and hopeful pledge was forgotten beneath the painful feelings that the teenager now harbored because of her.

Jim found himself once again at the entrance to Walter Walk, leaning against two aging posts that supported a curved and chipping sign that declared the place's identity. He had been planning to go here in the first place; but now, he knew that he would not be staying here for the long time that he had been hoping. No matter how angry or hurt he felt, he would have to go to school after that unsightly scene he had with his mother. It would be against the pride that he had within.

"Hey, Jim!"

Jim turned to the familiar voice and saw, with a small smile taking his once gloomy countenance, a dark-skinned figure jogging down the small sidewalk that lined the bank.

"Hey, Al!" Jim greeted his friend, pushing off the upright and raising a hand in salutation. Aladdin returned the gesture with a wave, and arrived swiftly before his friend, panting for breath.

"Thought you'd be here again," the young Arabian said, smiling widely at Jim. "You've got to be a little bit more creative with your hiding spots, Jim," he added in a cheery but serious voice. "You never know when the truancy police might catch you."

"You never said that before," Jim said. "What, did Razoul actually catch you this time?"

"No," Al said with a shrug. "But he almost did, Jim. _Almost_. And, isn't that a good enough excuse?"

"It doesn't matter anway," Jim said, letting out a sigh that drifted upward in a white fog. "I'm not ditching today."

"Whoa, really?" Aladdin asked, apparently surprised by the news. "Why? What made you change your mind?"

"My mom," he replied bluntly, his frown deepening at the thought.

"Oh, I get it," Al said, nodding his head. "Wow. Jim Hawkins, actually going to school. Who'd have thunk it?"

"Yeah," Jim began, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "Maybe Aladdin Azhadani might actually think of coming along too."

"No way, man," Al said, laughing and shaking his head. "You're not dragging me back to _that _hell hole. Besides, I'm a senior. I'm allowed to ditch sometimes."

"You've got a long ways until Senior Ditch Day," Jim told him. "Anyway, come on, Al, please? For emotional support or something."

Aladdin only laughed. "You know, Jim, I think that you are _way _past the emotional support thing."

Jim cast him an indignant look.

"Come on, you've got nothing to worry about," Al reassured him, patting the kid on the back friendlily. "You might get yelled at a little, and I'm not even going to start on the make up work, but we've all got to deal with it sometime. Why not now?"

Jim shook his head, looking out at the towering high-rises that formed the nearby city.

"That's not what I'm worried about."

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Jim pushed hesitantly against the metal bar of the hall's front doors, staring through the cross-hatched window at the bustling passage as students hurried along, grabbing books from lockers and rushing haphazardly to get to their first period class. The first bell had rung a moment before; Jim had arrived just in time to hear its melodic peal from the quad. That meant that he had about five minutes to get all his things before having to rush to Room 11 for English 2 with Mr. Doppler. Though he could've made it to SHS in good time from the Walter Walk, he had been too engrossed with one Aladdin Azhadani and a supposedly epic snowball fight to consider the time, not forgetting the reluctance he had to actually going to class that day.

Jim entered the hall after a tentative second, trudging along in his patented Hawkins walk, with his hands deep in his jacket pockets, his back in a slouch, his head tucked halfway beneath the edge of his gray collar.

Jim ignored the suspicious whispers that floated about him as he walked toward his locker, several of his fellow students stopping their rushed journeys to gossip and stare.

"—back from juvy—"

"—yelling at his house early in the morning—"

"—animal abuse—"

Jim scoffed the small snippets, glancing at those who muttered audibly almost threateningly, causing a large group of them to scatter off to their classes. The whispers followed him all the way to the green locker that housed his textbooks, which were in almost mint condition, and lingered for a while before finally dispersing. Jim stood there for a small moment, listening contently to the lack of rumor, until, letting out a tired sigh, he unlocked his closet and lifted the latch.

Just as he opened the creaking, metal door, a tactlessly loud voice sounded behind him.

"Aw, shut up, Tant," he heard someone bark. The voice was that of a female, though somewhat rough and boyish. Jim recognized it almost immediately: Terk… something of a tomboy with a Mohawk.

"But really," Tant said, his voice worried and on the verge of stuttering. "Have you gotten a look at the guy? How he walks? It's not normal, I tell you! There's something wrong with him…"

Terk snorted mockingly. "You guys think too much on appearances."

Jim felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a pleasantly surprised smile. It was the first time that he had heard someone talking behind his back say something like that. But the happiness was short lived.

"It's all for show," he heard Terk continue, her words full of irritation. "Thinks that being a bad boy'll get him all the girls."

Jim reached for a book, clutching the spine with a silent indignation. She was wrong. Completely wrong.

"But," Tant began, pausing for a short while, probably staring at the boy who stood almost motionless at his locker, "he doesn't have a girlfriend."

"Then it's not working," Terk said brusquely, following up with a scornful laugh.

"Why doesn't he stop, then?" Tant asked unsurely. Jim listened closely, though he hated what the smart-mouthed young woman was saying, pulling the primer out minutely to stifle any suspicions that the two would have that he listened.

"He probably thinks if he keeps at it enough then, you know, something'll happen." Jim heard another one of Terk's snorts. "What a dumba—"

"Oh gosh, we're gonna be late for class!" Tant's hurried voice interjected the young woman's sentence. "Come on! You don't want Mr. Phil to be mad at us do you? We'll have to run extra laps!"

"Ah, I can run the laps," Terk told him, but Jim heard the pad of her sneakers as she made her way down the hall. Soon, their voices disappeared, as well as their footsteps, but Jim still stood, unmoving before his open locker.

Nobody understood what was going through his mind, what he had experienced that had molded him into what he was then. Nobody at SHS knew, except, maybe the Doc, but he was an old family friend, so he only understood the goings on at a distant view point. Doppler only knew what Sarah had told him… anything that Jim felt, he kept to himself. He trusted no one with his secrets, his pain, the uselessness that his father had left with him… and he didn't feel like he needed to trust anyone with them anyway. He'd lived through it so far; he was doing just fine… He didn't want people to sympathize with him, he didn't anyone want to pity him. He just wanted them to leave him alone.

Finally, Jim pulled the textbook out of its spot on the bottom shelf, and, with a prodigious yell, he slammed his locker shut, the door shuddering from the force but stuck tight by the latch.

"School property, Mr. Hawkins," a voice muttered just beside him. "Be more careful."

Jim jumped at the words, half-expecting a professor standing to the side with a detention slip ready. The voice laughed at the reaction, a pleasant and familiar sound, and Jim, without even turning, let out a laugh of his own, putting his head against the locker in a relieved way.

"Nani," he muttered, smiling genuinely for the first time since he had entered the school building.

"Nice to see you too, Jim," the Hawaiian woman said, grinning at her friend, leaning smugly against the adjacent locker. "I almost thought you were expelled or something."

"Starting to believe those rumors, are you, Nani?" Jim asked, pushing off of his locker door. He tucked the book beneath his armpit, starting his walk toward Doppler's classroom.

"Nah," Nani replied, shaking her head. She followed at his side, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I knew you were suspended."

"What? Oh," Jim said with a comprehending nod. "Al told you, didn't he?"

"Don't be ridiculous," the woman replied. "Al told Jasmine, who then told me, so technically…"

"So, technically Al told you," Jim finished for her, smiling.

Nani just shrugged.

"So, Jimmy," she said, her voice becoming strangely serious. "What did you do now?"

"Nothing," Jim replied, looking down at his feet as they shuffled across the tiled floor.

"Liar," Nani said, slapping his shoulder playfully. "Come on, Doppler's class."

* * *

**Second chapter is done! Now, I was going to center the third chapter on Casey completely, but there's a small bit more of Jim's story that I'd like to insert before it starts on the little ten-year-old boy. I hope that he still has the same depression as dear Quasimodo, even in the change of age... ah well. He has a lot to deal with at his age. The same with Jim. If only I knew everything that was going on in his head... I could've written more thoughts... I like going deep into characters, but sometimes it's hard. READ AND REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I'm afraid that maybe my characters are a bit off character... I guess that my mind is just so on something else that I'm not paying so much attention to my writing... If there's anything that seems a bit off to you people, then by all means, tell me! I could do with some constructive criticism! This chapter, though dominated by another scene from Jim Hawkins's life, has a bit about a boy named Casey. You probably wouldn't know who it is by the name, because his real name is Quasimodo. I had to change it because it was a cruel thing to do, calling him Quasimodo. Hmph! Anyway, READ AND REVIEW! Please! Technically, reviews are all I get for writing and they make me feel good... If anyone can figure out who Mr. T is before I reveal it later on, I'll mention you in the fic! Talk to you later at the end of the chapter!

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"Where's the doc?"

Jim stared curiously at the halfway opened door near the front of the room. It was ten minutes since the final bell, he and Nani having made it just mere seconds before it had rung, and their teacher, Dr. Delbert Doppler, had yet to arrive.

"I don't know," Nani answered absentmindedly. She continued her anonymous attention toward a group of fellow sophomore girls as they gossiped contently, glancing at them from the corner of her eye.

"You don't?" Jim grimaced, leaning back in his chair.

"No, I don't," she repeated. She turned away from the nattering group and looked at her friend inquisitively. "Should I?"

"I guess not," Jim replied, shrugging his shoulders at the question.

Nani raised a quizzical brow. "You _guess_ not?" she echoed, half-laughing at the statement. "I'm not a stalker, Jimmy-boy."

Jim grinned at her claim. "Really?" he asked, leaning toward her. "What about that whole David thing last year?"

His friend narrowed her eyes in warning, her bottom lip jutting outward in a defiant pout. She lifted a finger to shake at him, but said nothing in reply.

Jim sent her a smug grin. "Can't come up with anything, can you, Nani?"

"If that's what you think," the Hawaiian replied surreptitiously, a mysteriously self-satisfied smile of her own curving her lips.

Jim frowned. "What does _that _mean?" he demanded, glaring at her questioningly.

Nani did little more than widen her smile, crossing her arms against her chest to further signify her contentment. "You'll see," she responded suggestively. She looked away from him, staring forward at the gray dry-erase board that took the front wall.

After several moments of persistence and receiving nothing truly revealing in return, Jim gave up with a groan of surrender, looking up at the ceiling as if imploring the heavens for a touch of sense now and then.

Resting his hand on his palm, Jim returned his glance to the door, still ajar, remembering his earlier question.

"You don't think that maybe the doc is sick or whatever, do you?" he asked after a moment, avoiding the annoying smugness that Nani's tanned face reflected. "I mean, like he caught the flu or something over the weekend?"

"He looked like he might've had a cold last Friday," Nani told him. "But, you know him. Unless it's bad, he'd come anyway."

"This late?" Jim looked back at Nani incredulously, gesturing toward the clock that sat above the front board. Three more minutes had been added to Doppler's previous ten minute tardiness.

Nani nodded, giving Jim a look as if suggesting his stupidity. "Uh, yeah, Jim," she said. "If you were here a bit more often, you'd know that the doc is almost _always_ late for class."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Jim bobbed his head in understanding and returned his glance to the entry. Now that he thought of it, the fact that Doc Doppler was late made a lot of sense. He was always absentminded, it seemed. A lot more absentminded than a scientist should be, in his opinion. He was clumsy, was barely able to speak more than a few sentences correctly before breaking into a stutter or some other slip… lateness wasn't too hard to believe.

_Probably got his head caught in his shirt and couldn't break free, _Jim mused with a slight smile. Strangely enough it was more than just a possible prospect. It probably happened to him everyday. Jim stifled a snicker at the thought of his teacher walking around with only the top of his head peeking over the edge of his shirt's collar, bumping into everything that got in front of him. He could just imagine his words then. _Oh, excuse me, Madame, I seem to have lost myself in my clothing, I apologize for my clumsiness!_

It was then when the door to the classroom was pushed all the way open and a figure, wrapped securely in uncountable layers of clothing, strolled into the classroom. The whole of the class, which had before then been busy socializing for lack of teacher, quieted, taking a long, awkward moment to stare at the alien form that had wandered into their class.

The person was barely visible beneath the beanie and numerous cloths that wrapped about his face. A long nose poked above a cotton and plaid scarf, upon which balanced a pair of glasses. Behind them could be spotted two tired, black eyes. Jim would've maybe considered the person to be Doppler, had he not seen the cinnamon tan that existed beyond the ice-bitten red of his nose. The doc had a long way to go to reach that color.

"Hello class," the man greeted. At least, that's what he seemed to say; the scarves muffled his speech rather nicely. A few of the class that had heard his salutation returned it unsurely. The man nodded his head, and began slowly to unwrap himself from the many layers that enveloped him.

Slowly, beneath a jacket or two, a windbreaker, a sweater, a pullover, and a plethora of scarves, the stranger revealed himself. He had a long face, much of it hidden behind a face mask that resembled something that a surgeon wore, probably to protect others from a cold that his bright red cheeks suggested. Just beneath the bottom edge of the mask could be seen a small wisp of black hair. Shoulder-length locks of the same color poked out from beneath the gray rim of his cap. He was thin, with long legs hidden beneath a pair of black slacks. He seemed relatively colorless at this point.

"I'm sorry for my tardiness," the man said, his voice less muffled now from the lack of impediments. Jim noted a strange accent attached to his speech, a mixture of French and some unknown dialect that he couldn't figure at that moment.

The new man walked over to Doppler's desk and, ignoring the horrible clutter of paper and other things that had found its way onto its surface, he sat on the edge, crossing his legs.

"Now, I am sorry to say, your dear professor Doppler has gotten a cold over the weekend and could not come to class today," he informed them. He sniffed his nose, his eyebrows lowering in an almost indignant fashion. "So, I have come to take his place. My name is… well, you can call me Mr. T; I doubt you'll be able to pronounce my last name correctly."

Jim barked out a laugh before realizing that it was coming. Mr. T? What kind of a name was that?

A screech of chairs followed his burst, the class turning to glance at him curiously. It seemed that the rest of them had seemed to understand the undeniable crankiness in their substitute's voice and had known better than to laugh at the strange nickname. Jim felt himself shrinking in his seat in embarrassment. Glancing at the teacher, he realized that Mr. T was staring at him too, one eyebrow arched. Jim held back a groan. The last thing that he needed was any bad attention from this substitute; he didn't want to gain yet another person to yell at him.

After a moment, the man stood up, and walked over to a case that sat on a chair laden with the clothing that he had managed to peel off. Opening the clasp, he began digging into the different files that could be seen, probably searching for the plans that Doppler had left for the class. Jim let out a relieved sigh. It seemed that Mr. T had decided to ignore his disturbance.

"Lucky." He heard Nani's whisper as he straightened up in his seat, and a subtle grin flashed on his face.

Mr. T turned about, a group of papers in his thin fingers.

"I'm going to take attendance." He raised the papers to read them. "Say here, or present, or whatever it is that you say when your teacher does this. Atlanta, Ariel."

A bright young woman with flaming red hair raised her hand immediately. "Here!"

Jim turned to Nani as the roll call began.

"Almost got in trouble there, didn't you, Jim?" Nani asked with a smirk.

"_Almost,_" Jim said, echoing her words. "I _almost _got in trouble."

"Isn't almost good enough?"

Jim almost laughed at her words. "You almost sounded like Al there," he said, remembering his other friend's earlier words on the truancy police.

"Jim…" Nani's words were said in a way of warning, her face serious.

Jim perceived this as little more than anger at his words. "Come on, Nani. Al's not a bad guy. I know that he ditches class and everything, but he hasn't done anything horrible."

"Jim…" Nani repeated in a cautionary whisper.

The boy lifted an eyebrow in wonder. "You don't have something against him, do y—"

"Mr. Hawkins!"

Jim jumped at the sudden cry, jerking his head toward the front of the class, where it had come from. His face paling, he saw Mr. T standing at the front of his class, his eyebrows lowered angrily. He straightened immediately in his seat.

"By your reaction," the man began, irked, "I'm guessing that _you_ are Mr. Hawkins, and that you are in fact _here._"

"Uh…" Jim lifted the collar of his jacket closer to his face. "Yeah."

"Why thank you, Mr. Hawkins, for responding."

"No problem," Jim muttered, sinking into his seat.

Mr. T raised an eyebrow at the response, but moved onto the next name.

"You know, Jim," Nani began, listening as attentively as she could to the substitute, "you might have to learn about a little thing called—here!"

Mr. T nodded quietly, marking beside her name.

"A little thing called tact," she finished, giving Jim a kind, but undeniably stern look.

"But I didn't say anything!"

"And timing. Timing would be very good too."

Jim let out a sigh. He supposed she was right. If he didn't learn that little thing called tact soon, he might have to deal with another angry adult.

He stared at the masked person before him. For some reason, this person didn't seem like the type to be so cranky. It must be the cold.

* * *

Casey Q. Frollo stared out the window, where the snow had once again begun to fall. It wasn't a strong fall, little more than a flurry at the most, but it drew his attention much better than the drone of his teacher. Mr. Maurice had been babbling about social studies for a while, not something that the young man appreciated as much as he should.

He was imaginative. He loved the world and had enjoyed social studies much more the year before, when it was discussing the different continents and cultures… but now, when it had moved on to talk about history, war, things like that… he had lost interest. He wanted to know how things were now, what he could experience if he visited these far away lands, not what happened in the past, or about things that he could never come across ever again.

But it was true that he was usually much more attentive to his studies. Maybe it was the way that the snow flew on the back of the wind and swirled in invisible curlicues that pulled him away from the class. It had been a long while since he had seen such a snow…

A note sliding onto the corner of his desk caught his attention. Turning away from the flurrying white, he tentatively picked up the folded piece of ruled paper. Casey glanced up at Mr. Maurice, making sure that he wasn't looking in his direction. Sure enough, the old man had his mustachioed face buried deeply in the spiral teacher's edition of their social studies book, doing his best to read the shrunken print.

Casey attempted, with difficulty, to hide himself behind Arthur Pendragon, a thin, blonde boy who sat before him, and, taking another glance up at the front of the class, straightened out the note.

Scrawled out on the paper without any acknowledgement toward the light blue lines that ran across its surface, was a message that read:

_Hey, Casey!_

_This is Peter (duh). Guess what? My dad got me something new! It's a plane, it flies and everything. Wanna Play with it after class?_

_Old Maurice is really boring today, isn't he? I can't even hear what he's saying behind the book. I hope he doesn't quiz us or anything._

Casey grinned at the note and glanced to his right where, sitting just a couple of chairs away, an impish-looking, redheaded boy waved at him. Peter Panning, Casey's good and only school friend, indicated the note that sat unfolded on Casey's desk.

Casey nodded. _Yes, _he mouthed, his tentative smile widening.

Peter raised a triumphant fist, accompanied with a silent whoop of joy. Quickly grabbing another sheet of paper, he scribbled down a note, folded it haphazardly, and nudged Marie, who sat beside him.

"What now?" Casey heard her hiss at Peter, adjusting the pink bow that wrapped about her platinum blonde hair.

"Pass this to Casey," Peter said, pointing directly at him.

"Again?"

"Yeah, just do it!"

Mumbling unhappily, Marie dropped the note on her neighbor Mowgli's desk and returned swiftly to her notes. Mowgli, almost automatically, picked up the packet and tossed it at Casey, who struggled to catch it without being caught.

Peter Panning, self-proclaimed future aviator, was almost the only person in school who was pleasant in any way to him. The rest of the town seemed to be sort of at odds with Casey for one reason or another, most usually the fact that his father was Mayor. There seemed to be a lot of tension lately about that, but despite it all, Peter remained ever loyal. Casey couldn't figure why; Peter was a pretty popular kid in their Elementary. Why on Earth would he hang with someone who was as avoided as he was? The best reason that Casey could come up with was that they had come to school on the first day both wearing green, and they had very red hair. Maybe Peter had found it interesting and decided to keep him around in case it happened again; the obscure similarity had created their introduction, anyway.

Most of the children were confused by their interaction, but soon got used to the constant note passing and the occasional after-school play sessions. Marie, who was, of her triplet group, the only one who cared much about succeeding in school, had just been moved to the back because her brother, Toulouse, had to be moved to the front for his behavior. She wasn't very happy about it, and hasn't taken the interruptions from both Casey and Peter very well.

Casey eased open the second note.

_Think we can ditch Victor this time?_

Casey looked at the short note unhappily. He had forgotten about that…

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**I really do want to keep writing, but I haven't even finished Hawaiian and Hunchback... I have this strange feeling that not finishing stories annoys people... but it may be just me... Ah well. I hope the chapter was okay! Read and Review!**

**-Guille van Cartier**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:**** I know that it's been a while since I last updated this story; I've got a lot to deal with, considering school and everything else. But, here it is. I haven't written fanfiction in so long, though I can assure you, it's been on my mind for much too long. Anyway, here you go! The fourth chapter of Sindey follows an experience in the life of one Casey Q. Frollo, or Quasimodo, as you might know him. Read and Review, s'il vous plait! Constructive criticism is much more than welcome!

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Peter Panning's laughter echoed in the empty, winter air, bounding off the school's outside walls in changing volumes as he spun about in circles, his hands gripping a white string. The miniature KC-130 plane followed the boy's movements in wide, familiar circles, its toy propellers whirling against the cold atmosphere that it met head on. The plane's brown and green camouflaged plating seemed to leave behind a delightful.

Casey stood to the side, leaned up against a slightly graffiti-ed wall, watching his friend enviously from over the edge of his thick, knitted scarf. He had nothing of his own that was quite like that plane, and he had a soft hope that, perhaps, _he _could play with it sometime. But, in his usual, shy manner, Casey couldn't bring himself to ask Peter if he might be able to have a go. The fear that, perhaps, Peter would become made at him and say no (because the boy_ did_ seem to be enjoying his new toy quite a bit), monopolized a good portion of his thoughts.

Casey let out a sigh, feeling his wet, foggy breath build up in the weaves that covered his mouth, and his face fell to it usual position, staring down at the ground beneath his feet. The snow lay, its once pristine surface dirty and imprinted from the feet of students and teachers alike, covering the concrete sidewalk with a delightful layer of crunchy white. Casey's eyes wandered to his own set of footprints, almost lost amongst the droves of others that decorated the snow, and, with a critical eye, examined the strange pace and position that they were set. He followed these prints straight to where he stood now, and his eyes rested with another sigh onto his feet.

Casey hated his legs, how his knees met and knocked into one another, how his feet pointed inward, forming an obtuse angle were their toes to touch. It was his last deformity, the final reminder he had of how he looked not so long ago, but for a boxful of old photographs stashed away in some forgotten place at home. Once, he had seemed little more than a misshapen monster, his body bent and twisted until people could doubt his humanity without feeling too much wrong. But, his father had changed all that.

Memories of a decade of corrective surgeries and physical therapy floated in and out of his mind. The things a father did for love…

"Hey, Casey!"

Peter's friendly voice broke through the sad recollections, and Casey, who had been quite engrossed in self-doubt and loathing, felt his body jump, startled.

"Yes?" he squeaked, pulling his head up away from the painful sight of his legs.

"Don't you want to play with it?" Peter asked. He held the plane in his hands now; it no longer spun in a blurring pattern above the pavement before the school. He held it out to his friend, offering it without a trace of the anger that Casey had so easily believed in.

"Can I?" Casey asked timidly, eyeing the plane with a quiet, but cautious want.

"Well, sure," Peter said in reply, shrugging his shoulders at the meek question. He placed the model in Casey's shaking hands, smiling. "I asked if you wanted to in the note, remember?"

Casey nodded gently, an embarrassed blush reddening his cheeks. Of course he remembered, but he couldn't help but suspect that, with every act of kindness there could follow a quick withdrawal; no kind offering can immediately trusted for fear of disappointment were it a lie. Past experience served as too big an example to prove otherwise.

"Just a moment," he said quietly, putting the toy back in his friend's hands to pull of his heavy backpack. He dropped the green Jansport™ bag onto the snow, which crunched satisfyingly beneath its weight, and Casey, thinking a little bit ahead, began to pull off his patterned mittens in hopes of maintaining a better grip on the string that led the KC-130's cycle. But, just as he managed to pull the glove halfway from his hand, a familiar black form began to turn into the parking lot.

Casey stopped, eyeing the vehicle with a disappointed twinge. Beyond the ice-edged windshield, his strong nose visible just past the shiny brim of his cap, Casey could easily recognize his father's chauffeur, Victor. The car began to follow the curb that ran before the school, close to where Casey and Peter stood, and the young boy knew that soon enough, he would have to go home. No more playing with Peter, no chance to have an enjoyable spin with the model plane.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, noting the fall in his friend's expression.

"Victor's here," Casey replied lowly. He began to pull on his mitten as Peter looked down the way and spotted the waxed, black car that made a gradual stop at the waiting area.

"That's no fun," Peter said, with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. "Why does he always come when we're about to have fun?"

"I guess it's time for me to go," Casey murmured, leaning down to pick up his backpack.

Peter looked as his friend struggled to bend his knees, one leg interfering with the other, and he felt a sudden idea pop into his mind.

"Wait," he said, bringing Casey back to stand. "You don't have to go yet."

Casey furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"Just trust me!" Peter replied, a mischievous smile beginning to spread across his impish face.

Casey gave Peter a strange, confused look, but followed unquestioningly as his friend led him away from the wall that he had leant against as Peter played with the plane. Just then, Victor brought the car to a stop before the both of them, and the man took a step out of the car, bowing slightly as he met Casey's gaze.

"Good day, Master Casey," he said in his deep, polite voice, stepping around the front of the car to open the passenger side door. "Are you ready to go home?"

Casey began to reply when Peter, knowing his friend too well, shushed him before a word could escape him. The impish boy just gave Victor a knowing smile.

"Not exactly," Peter replied, taking a few steps backward. Casey, who Peter had in quite a grip, stumbled, almost tripping as he went along with his friend's movement.

"Not exactly?" echoed Victor, one eyebrow arching curiously. "Now, why's that?"

"Well, first off, his backpack's still in the snow," Peter answered, pointing to the green bag. "And secondly… BYE!"

With a frightening quickness, Peter rushed straight away from the spot, dragging Casey, stuttering and tripping, behind him.

Victor half-jumped at the abruptness of the action, and stood dumbfounded for a moment by the black car, wondering just what had happened. A few seconds later, when Casey and Peter were already a good ways away, he realized that the young boy his boss had ordered him to fetch everyday now bounded off to some unknown place without him! Quite forgetting about the car and its open doors, the chauffeur rushed off after him, having a difficult time in his polished shoes as he slipped almost comically through the snow.

Casey followed Peter, trying his best to keep up with the boy's almost inhuman speed. His legs limped forward in a struggling and uncomfortable way, and the deep drafts of air that he breathed stung and bit his lungs with their coldness. The both of them had run quite a bit away from the school, and in the distance they could see Victor, dressed and stumbling, making chase.

"Peter," Casey said through breaths, "what are we doing…?"

"We're going to go have some fun!" the boy replied matter-of-factly, his grip tightening on Casey's arm, as if asking him to hurry up. "We just have to get Victor off our tail!"

"But…"

"Come on!" Peter interrupted, lost in the excitement of the scheme. He let out a characteristic crow, jumping nearly two feet into the air, and causing a close call as Casey worked to keep himself on his feet.

But, as far as they ran and as fast as Peter tried to go, Victor gained good distance. Casey felt ashamed and embarrassed, little more than a burden to his good friend and to Victor.

"Darn," Peter said, beginning to sound a little out of breath. "He's catching up! We've got to lose him!" He thought for a moment, still dragging Casey, until they came into a fork in the pathway ahead. "I know!" Peter exclaimed, slowing for a moment. "I saw this on TV once. Casey, you go down one way, and I'll go down another! That way, we'll never get caught!"

Casey only nodded; the pain in his harassed legs was becoming unbearable. As the road approached, Peter's grip finally loosened, and Casey began to fall a little behind as his friend sped up toward the divide. Suddenly, Peter pushed Casey to the left, and waving a quick goodbye, he sped down the right road, disappearing down another byway as Casey watched in bewilderment.

Catching sight of Victor rounding a corner behind him, Casey rushed off to the left, his knees bruised from knocking so hardly against one another. He followed the sidewalk, struggling to continue his pace, until a wall of white marble began to run beside him. Casey glanced at the barrier, gasping at the familiarity. He knew this place.

With a renewed burst of speed, Casey maintained his path, until he reached a break in the wall, where a silver and green plaque proclaimed in etched letters the words "Key Park." Without a thought, Casey turned into the park, and finally slowed his pace, wheezing with difficulty, bent at the waist so that his sweat and tears of pain dripped onto the cobble-paved path that led deeper into the walled park. The place seemed relatively empty at the moment; the sound of Victor's expensive shoes echoed just outside, and Casey quickly made a move to hide behind the trunk of a nearby tree. The footsteps slowed as they neared, stopping for a moment, suggesting Victor standing outside the wall, giving the park a check. It seemed little more than a cursory glance, because less than thirty seconds afterward, Casey heard a few disappointed words and the clack of Victor's heels once again sounded, fading off after a few moments into obscurity.

Casey remained behind the tree for a long while, his breathing harsh and stinging, the tears continuing to collect and fall at the corners of his eyes. He fell onto the ground, leaning against the tree's trunk, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head against the denim of his jeans. Something about running felt liberating to him; he had never felt such confusion and freedom before in his life! But, this pain, in his legs, his lungs, and his throat… the sensation had become so much more noticeable now as the adrenaline wore down, as his breathing slowed. He felt dizzy, nauseous… Could this be punishment for disobeying his father's wishes? For running away from Victor?

The frosted wind slithered through the park, and Casey's sweat dried, disappeared. The boy looked up, and, struggling against the tree's trunk, Casey got to his feet, and hesitantly stepped back onto the cobblestone path.

Key Park was situated in the northeastern part of Sindey City, a large, well-known place amongst the citizens. The park consisted of several circles, each separated by a white wall, growing smaller and smaller as one continued deeper into the park's depths. In the center, the innermost circle lay separated from the rest by a flight of stairs and a large, wooden door, roofed by a stained-glass dome that sparkled when the sun shone through from the proper angle. Ivy spilled down from several plant boxes set near the top of the round walls, ending midway, where green benches of painted wood and curled, black iron hugged the white divider, following its graceful curve. In the center of the room, a beautiful white fountain spouted crystalline waters. The pool surrounding the carved spout was filled with fish, its water warmed every winter to preserve them. An adjacent room led to an aviary, where different birds sang all year long.

Casey made his path toward that place, a place where he could find quiet. His sanctuary.

As he passed by the children's park that was set up in the outermost circle, his head traveled to when he first came to this place: on an outing with his Uncle Hugo during a long week when his father had gone away on business. He fell in love with it, begging to come back everyday, until Mr. Frollo returned home, and, being the ever-submitting and fun person Uncle Hugo was, Casey had that opportunity. He found a heaven in that place, where the sounds of water calmed him, allowed him a momentary amnesia, a time to relax and enjoy. He hadn't come here for such a long time…

Casey's breathing finally normalized, just as he reached the top of the stairs. His dizziness still existed, and the pain in his knees didn't seem to want to leave, but still, he descended the flight. He pushed against the wooden door.

The room hadn't changed at all since he had last seen it, but for the ivy which the park officials must've recently trimmed. The fountain bubbled as always in the center, made of white marble, its spout circled by a pool whose ledge could easily serve as a seat. The pale sun filtered in through the glass above. Casey could see the colored silhouettes of the swimming fish from his spot by the door, and, with a relieved sigh upon seeing that no one else was in the room, he made his way to one curved bench and took a seat.

For a while he sat there, his eyes closed, drinking in the tranquility that hummed in the constant gurgle of the water.

"Are you okay?"

Casey sucked in a gasped that stung at his raw throat, his eyes fluttering open at the sudden, unexpected voice, and with an abrupt movement, he flung himself into an upright position, pulling his body off the back of the bench. He heard a small yelp as he sat up, but afterward, nothing seemed to make a noise in the room, but for the burble of water and the occasional twitter of the birds, sleeping in the aviary. His own harsh breathing joined them after a short, flabbergasted silence.

Grabbing his chest, the young boy's eyes scanned the room warily for the voice's owner. He must've fallen asleep; he came in when the room was quite empty, and he couldn't remember hearing the door creak open as another person entered. The tranquility and weariness in his bones could've easily pulled him away into unconsciousness.

Casey couldn't see anyone else in the room, and for a moment, he wondered whether or not he had imagined the voice and its question. Perhaps it came from his dream, if he had in fact fallen asleep. The young boy let out a sigh, finally catching his breath, and he rubbed his eyes gently. He should probably leave now; he already put Victor through enough trouble by running away, and if he didn't come home before his father did…

"You scared me." The voice came once again, quieter and bothered by a small bit of embarrassed laughter. Casey pulled his face from his hands, glancing up at the fountain, where he thought he heard the words come from.

Coming up from a crouch behind the opposite ledge of the fish pool, he saw a little girl with dark skin and hair. She looked at him curiously, a small smile playing with her wide mouth, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling curiously. She must've hid when he had woken up, he supposed, watching her as she took a seat on the fountain's edge. That's why he couldn't find her.

"Was it you who…" Casey spoke quietly, trying to avoid the usual stammers that took his voice when he spoke to someone knew. But, as always, the words escaped him, and he found himself once again staring at his abnormally angled feet.

"I asked if you were okay," she explained, guessing his question correctly. "You looked sorta tired and sick when I came in."

"Oh," Casey said, wringing his fingers nervously. "Well, I… I'm f-fine."

The little girl laughed at the slight stutter, hiding her mouth beneath her mitten-ed hands. Casey felt a blush coming onto his cheeks, and he looked away, feeling the normal self-consciousness slipping back into his manner, and the self he became when lost in the room's almost-forgotten tranquility disappeared into a barely touched portion of Casey's personality. A long, awkward silence followed the girl's laughter, and Casey felt the urge to disappear from the room become strong in the hush.

"Sorry," the little girl said at length, her voice breaking through the silence as a low and sincere murmur.

"No, it's all right!" Casey exclaimed, feeling extremely guilty upon hearing the shame in her voice. He rubbed his shoulder fretfully, biting his bottom lip as he searched for something more to say. "I… I think I might've… fallen asleep when you came… you surprised me."

For some reason or other, Casey wanted to stay and talk with this peculiar new person. At school, the boy had no friends but for Peter (he wondered whether or not Peter had stopped running yet); as if from some unspoken rule, not only children but people in generally tended to avoid the poor boy. Life played out long and lonely, his high social status and slight physical deformities causing a natural discomfort amongst the normal citizens his day forced him to encounter. If encounter was the word; it seemed everyone felt loathe to meet him.

And yet, this little girl spoke to him, asking for his feelings, talking with a friendliness he experienced rarely from people other than Peter. Perhaps… perhaps Casey had a chance now, to make a new friend…

The little girl's smile widened, as if she could hear this single thought in Casey's voice as he spoke.

"You're lucky _I_ was the one who caught you here," she told him, her eyes shifting as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. "I think I saw a blue monster outside the park," she told him, her face completely serious. "It was eating a trashcan!"

"It was eating out of a trashcan?" Casey asked, tilting his head questioningly.

"_No_," the little girl replied, her hands moving to her hips. "It was _eating_ the trashcan! I was going to run away, but I needed to get here because of Pudge, so I rushed in—"

"Pudge?" Casey interrupted.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head. "I need to feed him today, because Nani wouldn't let me do it last Thursday."

Casey furrowed his brow, scratching the back of his head in confusion. What was Pudge exactly?

"_That's_ why it's been snowing a lot, I think," the little girl continued, glancing up at the glass dome where frost patterns veined out from the cold panes. "Luckily, the park people let me put him in the fountain so he can keep warm… I think he misses Hawaii."

"Pudge is a fish?" Casey inquired slowly, drawing this conclusion from her comment about the fountain. Sadly, the rest of her words didn't seem to form intelligible sentences, and he found himself unable to figure a bit of what she meant. Hawaii… is that where she came from?

"Pudge is the orange one with the blue spots." The little girl pointed a chubby fish swimming about in the water, its silhouette barely visible from Casey's point. Curious, Casey stood from the bench, groaning somewhat from the persistent pain in his bruised knees, and, with a slow tentative limp, the young boy made his way to where the little girl sat.

She seemed to find his gait rather interesting; her eyes didn't stray from his form as he made his approach, and they seemed ever watchful of his legs even as he arrived and took a tired seat on the ledge. He rubbed his knees gently, still cringing at the sting that had blasted from the skin when he had tried to walk, the bone having rubbed against the bruises.

"Wow," the little girl said suddenly, her gaze still directed at his strangely set feet, a genuinely interested glimmer evident in her large brown eyes. "How did _that_ happen?" she asked, finally looking up at Casey. "Was it an accident? Did it hurt? Was there a lot of blood?"

Casey leant backwards, away from the young girl's eager face, his fingers clutching tightly at the edges of the marble pool as a sudden nervousness began to take him. She hadn't noticed his deformity, not until he had stood up and walked, and now she asked him questions about it as if it were the only thing she noticed now. He looked down at his knees in disdain. Could his appearance have inhibited yet another new friendship?

"I…" Casey began, his stammer returning. "I... I was b-born this way…" He looked away, moving himself a small amount from the little girl, biting his bottom lip in a fretful manner.

"Really?" The little girl smiled at him widely, closing the distance between them by crawling over on the wide ledge. "I was born with something cool too! Look!" Pulling off one of her mittens, the little girl cricked her joints so that they bent backwards. Casey looked at the display, letting out a small surprised yelp, his tongue sticking out in disgust as a friendly laughter escaped him in loud bursts. The little girl, giggling, just pushed her hand closer to his face, popping her joints back and forth between bending in one direction to bending in another. "See? I'm double-jointed. Cool, isn't it?"

"Yes," Casey answered, still backing away from the strange show; it gave him a strange shiver up his spine, interesting though it was.

Finally, the little girl backed up, a grin spread about her face. "You should smile more," she told him, pulling on her mitten. "It looks better."

Casey blinked at the words, feeling another blush deepen his already embarrassed, pink cheeks. No one in his life had ever told him something like that before, and yet this little girl… He had just met her, and already she surprised him beyond anyone else. He could sense eagerness in her voice and actions, as if she wanted friends as badly as he did. She treated him with such kindness, and his deformity was as horrible to her as a set of double-jointed fingers…

"Th-thank you," he muttered.

"You're wel--." The girl began to talk, but stopped suddenly, her brow furrowing as if in concentration. She lifted her head, an attentive look on her face. She seemed to be listening for something…

Casey listened as well, wondering what was going on. Nothing greeted his ears at first but the usual burble of water, but, after a moment, the faint sounds of a woman's voice could be heard, muffled by the walls that enclosed both him and the little girl.

"I knew it," Casey heard the little girl murmur, and, glancing back for a moment, he spotted her standing up and rushing over the aviary door.

"Where are you going?" He called curiously.

"I gotta hide," she answered. "I have a secret hiding spot… A lady's gonna come in, okay? Don't tell her I'm here, please!" And, with that, she rushed to where the caged birds sang faintly, disappearing from Casey's sight.

For a second, Casey stared at the door, where the young girl had stood just seconds before. Once again, he couldn't quite comprehend the meaning in her words, unsure whether or not he should be able to, taking things into a different context, probably, than she did... He guessed she reacted to the voice that he had barely managed to detect outside the fountain room, but he could only surmise. After staring at the aviary entrance for a few more moments, Casey shrugged his slumped shoulders, letting out an accepting sigh as he rubbed at the sore spots on his tired knees.

He had just started searching the fountain's pool for the blue and orange fish—Pudge, as the little girl had called him—when the creak of the wooden door's hinges turned his head to the inner circle's entrance. Her head poking through the crack of the now slightly open door, a young woman, perhaps in her teens, peeked into the quiet room. Her eyes seemed to scan over the scene, searching the benches and fountain from her spot at the door. For a moment, her gaze rested upon Casey, who had turned back to the fountain, attempting discreet glances at her as he ran a casual finger through the warmed pool water, wanting to appear offhand.

"Excuse me," the woman spoke up, squeezing into the room through the small crack, not even making an attempt to push the door open further. Casey glanced at her for a moment questioningly. Her voice was accented, some unknown tone that he had never come across before. Seeing that she caught Casey's attention, she smiled politely and made a tentative approach. "Can you check if there's a little girl in the bird room for me, please?"

Casey nodded wordlessly, standing up from the pool's ledge and limping from the fountain over to the entrance. He did it out of politeness; he felt quite certain about what he would see. Peeking his head beyond the jamb of the aviary entrance, shock and surprise sent a jolt through his body as he saw, with wide and questioning eyes, that no one stood in the room. Cages of painted black metal lined the walls, colorful birds sleeping on wooden perches that jutted out from the brick. A wooden bench sat in the space between barriers. A sack of birdseed sat, leant up against the far, uncaged wall. But, no little girl. Perhaps she had disappeared.

Pulling himself back, slow and questioning, Casey turned back to the young woman his brow furrowed in curiosity.

"There's no one there," he told her.

The young woman's face fell.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Well, thank you anyway," she said, an exasperated grimace marring her pretty face. She was muttering as she left the room through the door.

Casey stood alone for a few moments after the lady left, still thinking quietly. Where could that little girl have disappeared to?

"Is she gone?"

Casey jumped again, surprised. Making a swift turnabout, he saw the little girl glancing warily from one end of the room to the other as she walked toward him from the bird room. She didn't look too happy.

"She's always following me everywhere," she complained out loud, pouting. "I just got here, and she still won't leave me alone…"

"Who is she?" Casey asked curiously.

"My sister, Nani," the little girl replied. With a quick sigh, she reached into a pocket of her red jacket, pulling out what looked like a peanut butter sandwich. She walked over the fountain and, taking a moment to look for her beloved Pudge, she threw the sandwich in.

"I'll see you next Thursday, okay, Pudge?" she said, watching her fish affectionately. "I gotta get out of here before Nani catches me again."

Standing, she started toward the door when she stopped, as if just remembering Casey. She waved at him, smiling genially.

"See you too, maybe," she said, sending him a wink before rushing out the great door.

Casey was silent for a while. _Maybe,_ he thought sadly. _Probably not._

And, with that, Casey gave his farewells to the orange and blue fish that he had just met, and left the room. Victor would probably be in a lot of trouble. He hoped he remembered the way home.

* * *

**That was long, wasn't it? Ah well... Thank you for reading. This chapter was more of a character examination for Casey; this story brought about a lot of changes in the circumstances Quasimodo went through, so I wanted to see if I might be able to presereve his personality despite all that. But, whatever. It's been a whlie, and I'll admit, I'm rusty. As stated before, Read and Review! The next chapter is Belle's!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Yes, it has been a while, hasn't it? I've been stuck drawing lately, and I got into an RP and I felt like I had to write something... then, I realized that I had several stories up here that I hadn't even finished yet! So, here you go, the fifth chapter to Sindey City. **

** BTW, Kaze is NOT a Disney Character. It's Tsukai-Kaze's prize for figuring out who Mister T was! Good for her, yeah? laughs There's one more person who figured him out, but she won't come for a while; I've been sorting things out and that's just how it works. Le sigh.  
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** Next Chapter is another Jim Hawkins one. READ AND REVIEW, S'IL VOUS PLAIT, AND NO FLAMES!  
**

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* * *

Sindey City: Winter Troubles**

**Chapter 5**

Belle held the stack of light-yellow campaign pamphlets guardedly against her chest as the wind made another pass at her, the cold, blustering air sending her skirt billowing halfway up her legs. The young woman made a quick move to duck behind a pick up truck that someone had parked nearby, still protecting her papers, and she waited for the wind's howl to die down. She had spent a long while in the supermarket parking lot, tucking flyers behind people's windshield wipers with another one of Mme DeChâteaupers's campaign volunteers, Ms. Kaze. The wind had played on and off during their work, disappearing for five minutes at a time before coming back, full howl, into the parking lot. Both she and Kaze had lost many papers that way, and they determined they wouldn't let it happen again. A few, cold moments after Belle had protected herself behind the vehicle, the wind's force and noise decreased, soon fading into the gray winter sky.

Belle released a huffy sigh that appeared and disappeared as a brief, white mist.

"Ms. Belle? Are you okay?" Kaze's voice inquired from another part of the parking lot, accompanied by the padding of her booted feet as she made her approach.

"I'm fine, Kaze, thank you," Belle replied, straightening out her dress and stepping out into the street. She looked down at her papers with a disappointed sigh. The wind had crinkled the lot of them rather nicely. What sort of impression would Mme DeChâteaupers have on these people if all of the campaign flyers they handed out were crumpled up?

Kaze finally arrived at Belle's side, her eyebrows knitted just beneath the edge of her beanie as she fingered the papers in her stack, seemingly counting the lot. "I have eight left," she told Belle, rubbing her cold nose with her gloved hands. She looked up hopefully. "How many do you have?"

Belle, who had just finished counting her own wrinkled stack, let out a slight groan. "Twelve," she answered. Adding up the numbers almost instantly in her head, she added, "That makes twenty more cars to put them on."

"I'm tired," Kaze complained upon hearing the news. "Can't we take a break for now? We've worked all morning on this already."

"I know," Belle responded, understanding the grief but also understanding her responsibility. "But, we have a job to do. I think that we should finish what we started."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't," the younger girl said. "I just want to take a break. It's cold, the wind _hates_ us, and we haven't had a rest yet. Let's get a hot cocoa or something. Rest for a few minutes. Then, we can just finish the last twenty."

Belle pursed her lips, pondering over the situation. "Well…"

"Please, Ms. Belle?" Kaze begged, looking up at her with big, imploring eyes. "I swear, after I'm rested, I'll be a lot faster with passing these things out! I just need some hot cocoa, _right now_!"

The last words echoed through the empty lot, retaining every nuance of annoyance as it turned the heads of the others walking along the way. Belle, though silent for a short while, broke out into laughter, trying to muffle the impolite noise with her hands to little avail. It took Kaze a moment or so to realize what had happened, and she bowed her head, realizing her own childishness with more than a little shame.

"Forgive me," she murmured, looking away.

"It's all right," Belle reassured her, patting the younger girl's back genially. "And, in any case, you're right… we _do_ need a break."

Belle took the papers from her partner's hand, adding it to her own, and she straightened out the stack against the hood of a scratched up van sitting nearby. Tucking the papers underneath her arm, she motioned for Kaze to follow.

"Come on. I know this great café nearby."

* * *

The Good Fairies' was a pretty, old fashioned coffee shop sitting in the small stores just a block or so from the supermarket parking lot that the two campaigners had come from. It sat sandwiched between Fagen's antique shop and Jessie's miniatures, adding its own sense of antiquity to the already old-fashioned feel of the other stores. Outside, one large, glass window with edges painted with green, red, and blue flowers, opened to the cozy café. When one walked through the front door, a cheery bell rang above, and the three owners, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather, stepped out to greet you. The coffee shop was small, but it gave a cozy atmosphere that only made the experience so much better.

Belle and Kaze sat at a round, wooden table by the window, sipping the hot chocolate that the kind old woman Flora had just given them. Belle gazed dreamily out at the snow-covered city outside, fingers tapping with lazy content against the polished table surface. Work had swamped her well that year, especially the past month, when Mme DeChâteaupers's campaign group had decided they needed to step up a little on their efforts. Seemingly, Sir Claude Frollo, despite the problems during his past term as Sindey's Mayor, had a wide and trusting audience. They needed to work rather hard to keep up.

Belle knew the importance of winning this electoral race, but the wish to take some down time never seemed to disappear from her thoughts. Moments like this, sitting down at a windowside table, lazily sipping at sweet hot chocolate on a bitter winter day… they didn't come around too often, not then. She wanted to break away from the routine drudgery of work and fall into something new, something she could enjoy.

Her eyes wandered silently to where Kaze sat, swirling the hot chocolate in the Styrofoam cup with more than a little satisfaction. Belle's face split into a smile. Seemed she wasn't the only one with these feelings.

The bell at the front rung merrily, declaring a new addition to the café, and Belle, out of curiosity, turned her head to glance at whomever had come in. A round, friendly woman closed the door, a few grocery bags slung on her elbows, her cheeks red and rosy from the cold.

"Hello, Mrs. Potts," Merryweather greeted from behind the counter. "How are you doing today?"

"Fine, dear," she replied, dropping her grocery bags beside the nearest table. "It's a little cold today. Could you be a dear and pour me a spot of tea, if it isn't too much trouble?"

"Well, of course," Flora said, popping up from seemingly nowhere, teapot in hand. "What trouble would there be in that?"

The three shared a friendly laugh, and Belle couldn't help but feel warm. She smiled gently, watching the old friends talk amongst one another, exchanging greetings and news, asking one another to pass on messages to their other old friends. She only guessed that the three knew each other for a long while; the notion further warmed Belle's heart. It seemed friendships those days came and went with little time passing between a first hello and a final goodbye. It must take a lot of dedication to maintain a relationship in this busy world, dedication that people more often than not spent upon themselves or their careers… friendships came as little more than extra burdens upon an already over-badgered load or as a mere ghost haunting the fringes of one's life.

A jingle of coins hitting the floor brought Belle from her musings.

"Oops," Mrs. Potts chuckled, having apparently dropped the change Mrs. Flora had tried to had her. The old woman bent down to retrieve the fallen coins, searching the floor with quick eyes and moving about on her knees to pick up the dimes and pennies. It so happened that one had managed to roll over beside Belle's table, and the old woman had come about to pick up her change, when she spotted the yellow pamphlets Belle had left out.

"Oh, are you volunteers for Mrs. DeChâteaupers's campaign?" she asked, reading the print on the paper.

"Oh, yes," Belle said, sitting up straighter in her seat and looking up at Mrs. Potts with a smile. She had noticed the genuinely interested tone of the older woman's voice. "We were just taking a break from handing out flyers."

"That's wonderful, dear," the old woman said with a sparkle-eyed smile. "She seems a lovely candidate to replace Mayor Frollo."

"'Course she is," Kaze murmured beneath her breath, a slight bitterness in her tone.

Belle shot her a glance, and Kaze, as if out of shame, dropped her head down to look at the last bit of hot cocoa that sat at the bottom of her cup.

"Do you take donations?" Mrs. Potts asked, taking no notice of Kaze's words. She reached down into a large purse hanging from one shoulder. "I'd like to help you in your campaign."

"Of course, thank you!" Belle replied, nodding her head quickly and eagerly. "I'm sure Mme DeChâteaupers would be very pleased."

Mrs. Potts laughed in agreement, smiling genially before turning to take a concentrated look into her purse. She had been rummaging around with her fingers for a while, and apparently, she hadn't yet come across whatever it was that she searched for. She took a few moments to sift through her items, with still no more luck, before pulling the bag from her shoulder and, with an apologetic glance, setting it down at the edge of Belle and Kaze's table. One by one, she removed every item in her bag, in the end leaving a good-sized pile of make up, receipts, coinage, and other miscellany. None of which seemed to be what she was looking for.

"I'm sorry, dear," she sighed in defeat, replacing the things to their rightful positions in her purse. "I suppose I left my checkbook at home, and I'm afraid I used all of my large bills today for groceries…"

"Oh," Belle said, trying to keep her smile intact despite this development. She shrugged, letting out a slight laugh as if to keep casual, but she couldn't hide the slight disappointment in her voice well enough. "Well, it's okay. You don't have to…"

"Well," Mrs. Potts began, taking note of Belle's somewhat unhappy tone, "we could drop by my house and I'll get my checkbook."

"I suppose we could do that," Belle started, sounding and feeling excited, before yet again remembering the pile of light-yellow papers and her duty to pass them out. Her stature became somewhat limp at the thought, and her eyes wandered over to the flyers sitting at the edge of the table with innocent and wrinkled faces. "But, I don't know if I can…"

Kaze, noticing her colleague's glance and realizing its meaning, cut in immediately. "Of course you can!" She reached down swiftly, snapping the papers into her arms and holding them against her chest, as if to keep Belle from declining her offer. "I'll finish this last bit up, no problem," she continued, rifling her fingers through the sheets as if it were nothing.

"Are you sure?" Belle asked worriedly. She knew how much Kaze disliked this sort of mundane work, despite the unconcerned look the younger woman tried to convey.

"Oh, it'll be fine," the girl said, nodding her head. "It's nothing, really. And, in any case," she added with a grin, "I think Mme DeChâteaupers would be really pleased with that donation."

Belle noted the smile with a slight bit of surprise before smiling in understanding. Both she and Kaze knew how much Belle wanted Mme DeChâteaupers to understand her passion for the campaign. But, lately, Belle had little opportunity to prove herself; instead of dealing with the more hands-on bits of their work, the woman had assigned her things along the line of research and publicity. During the past few weeks, Belle had found herself either trapped away in a room with a computer, or wandering around the streets, handing out buttons and posters or begging for donations. The better she did now the better Mme DeChâteaupers would think of her… this donation would help a lot.

"Well, alright then," she said finally, standing up in a decided manner and straightening out the lap of her blue dress. She looked to the old woman. "I'll be happy to take your donation Mrs. Potts."

The old woman nodded her head. "Well, let's go then, now shall we?"

Grabbing her groceries the old woman said her goodbyes to Kaze and to her good friends, the "three fairies." The three old ladies bid her farewell, sending her off with a Styrofoam cup filled with hot cocoa and a "see you later" spoken from smiling mouths. Apparently, it wasn't often when Mrs. Potts came around; the friends shared a round of hugs between them, as if genuinely afraid that a long while would pass before they next saw one another.

Belle said her own goodbyes, promising to meet Kaze again at the next campaign meeting before exiting under the cheerful bell's ringing, out into the cold winter air.

* * *

"Be a bit careful, dear, the steps are a bit slippery from the snow."

Belle nodded in understanding, shifting the weight of two bulging grocery bags that she had volunteered to carry up to Mrs. Potts house.

The two had driven there in the old woman's car, making their way into the richer portion of Sindey City. They drove in through a black iron gate that moved on electric hinges as the car sat patiently before it, into a hilly area, now covered in snow, with roads that twisted and turned about the bulging mounds. Sets of houses looked out toward the road, their size and magnificence easily making them mansions, with cheerfully lit windows and chimneys that puffed with dark smoke from a fire probably burning quite merrily inside. Belle had never been there before; she took to watching the brilliant households with awe as Mrs. Potts drove by at a cautious pace, counting out every house that still had Christmas lights hanging from their eaves.

After a while, they arrived to what seemed the end of the lane, turning into a driveway that someone must've swept free of snow. The moment Belle had seen it, her mind wandered off to the castles she remembered from fairy tales often heard and read… It sat alone atop what seemed the tallest hill in the area; it overlooked the rest of the neighborhood like a lurking beast, and it was the largest of all of them. A girdle of dead, jagged-limbed trees grew about them, like a forest, blocking them away from the other mansions.

"You must live a very comfortable life," Belle murmured, taking a few cautious steps up the small case of stairs that lead up to the porch of Mrs. Pott's residence. She ran her foot hesitantly over the first stone-hewn step, making sure she wasn't about to walk onto ice, looking up at the tall and gloomy face of the mansion before her. For some reason, the house gave an air of darkness, as if whoever lived inside did so unhappily. The windows were heavily draped and darkened, staring out lifelessly at the world outside. _But,_ Belle thought, taking another step up the case, _that doesn't sound like Mrs. Potts at all…_

"A comfortable life?" Mrs. Potts began, stopping for a moment with her lips pursed in thought. "Well, I suppose you could say that," the old woman said with a chuckle, glancing over her shoulder at Belle and continuing her pace up the stair. "I'm only here to take care of Master Best."

In a moment, she stopped, reaching the top with a practiced ease. Putting her bags down, she rummaged through her purse, pulling out a ring of keys only a second or so later.

"Master Best?" Belle inquired, approaching the porch slowly. The name sounded slightly familiar.

"Yes, dear, he owns the house," Mrs. Potts said, waiting for Belle to arrive beside her before putting the key in the knob and opening the door. Picking up her bags, she took a few steps into the house, before dropping them once again several feet into the foyer. Letting out a tired sigh, she turned and motioned Belle to come in.

Belle followed, awed by the vast size of the entrance hall, looking up at an unlit chandelier that hung silently above the both of them like a dusty, crystalline spider. Along both side walls, a set of carpeted stairs led up to a second level, a small railed catwalk of a hallway that followed along the walls before ending at a set of wooden doors. Faded red draperies ran down to the floor, hanging at intervals beneath the staircases and upper walkway, some whose bottom edges wisped about in the slight chill coming in through the open front door, ripped and frayed as if some animal had attacked them in anger. Between the curtains, sullen portraits stared out with severe eyes from their rusted gold frames. The hall was lit dimly by a set of electrical lights, fashioned to look like candles and set upon iron sconces from the walls above the gloomy paintings.

Belle looked about her with an intensifying curiosity, managing to pull herself from her reverie just before she bumped into Mrs. Potts. Embarrassed by her open-mouthed interest, Belle quickly put the set of groceries down beside the ones that the old woman had already deposited on the floor, bowing her head slightly.

"I'll just get my checkbook, then, alright, love?" Mrs. Potts said, taking a few steps down the carpeted floor toward a set of twin doors at the other end of the foyer.

"Of course," Belle replied, nodding.

Mrs. Potts was halfway there when she stopped suddenly, as if a thought had suddenly struck her. She turned with a slight slowness, her brow furrowed with a slight concern. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to stay in the foyer, dear," she began, looking apologetic but stern.

The look on her face slightly confused Belle, but she said nothing other than that she understood. But, those words didn't get rid of whatever idea was ailing the old woman.

"I'm sorry if it seems rude," Mrs. Potts continued, looking more than a little guilty. Apparently, she hadn't grown up thinking leaving guests in the entrance hall was acceptable. "I'm just a little afraid that Master Best…" She trailed off, losing herself in a thought or perhaps not wanting to say.

"It's alright," Belle reassured her, smiling warmly in hopes of allaying some of the woman's troubles. Though, she admitted inwardly, this Master Best had already begun to pique the curiosity she spent her time vehemently trying to repress.

Mrs. Potts seemed finally calmed enough to leave Belle alone, though not without another full-hearted apology before she finally came to the end of the hall and disappeared behind the twin doors.

It didn't take long for Belle's interest to annoy her out of just standing cautiously beside the groceries (which she had originally planned), and she found herself wandering along the walls, glancing at every painting with a scrutinizing curiosity, running her fingers against every blood-red drape. After a while, Belle found herself examining one of the tattered curtains. As she looked upon the torn cloth, a sudden whirlwind of ideas and possible scenarios reasoning its state stormed into her mind. Could an animal have done this? A knife? Perhaps… perhaps that enigma, that Master Best… could he have done this?

"Whoever lives here," she thought aloud, fingering the ripped edge tenderly, "must be a very angry person."

"Ah ha, mademoiselle, you are halfway there!"

Belle jumped at the new voice, letting go of the tapestry and turning round, hiding her hands behind her back like a child that had just done something wrong.

A man stood before her now, tall and thin with a long nose and a large mouth, now laughing. His brown hair was tied back into a ponytail with a neat yellow ribbon, and he wore a loose-sleeved button up shirt and a tie. He seemed something of a butler gone slightly casual.

"No need to jump like a caught criminal, mademoiselle!" the man reassured her, chuckling at her guilt-ridden expression. "You have done no wrong!"

Belle laughed somewhat embarrassedly, putting a hand to her cheek to feel its temperature, to make sure she didn't blush. "You startled me!" she told him, noticing the warmth of her cheeks and knowing her embarrassment now flushed her face pink.

"I apologize full-heartedly then," the man said, bowing slightly and offering his hand, palm up, to receive hers. "I am Lumière, one of Master Best's butlers."

Belle put her hand into his. "Belle," she replied, holding back a giggle as he kissed her hand, like one of those old fashioned gentlemen.

"Belle!" Lumiere repeated, smiling broadly. "Beauty… what a wonderfully appropriate name, non?"

"I suppose," Belle answered. She coughed awkwardly. "What did you mean by 'halfway there?' I'm sorry, but I didn't completely understand…"

"You said that whoever lived here was angry," Lumiere began. "And, he is… but there is something more."

"Something…more?"

"Oh, nothing a beautiful woman like yourself should bother yourself with," he said, shaking off the question more like something he felt he wasn't allowed to discuss than something he didn't want to take the time to say. Belle could do little more than nod, more confused and curious now than when she had arrived.

"Well, Belle, what brings you here?" Lumiere inquired, ending the brief silence and looking at her as if she were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Oh, well, I'm a volunteer in Mme DeChateaupers's campaign, and Mrs. Potts offered me a donation," she answered, trying to ignore Lumiere's stares. "But she'd forgotten her checkbook, so she's asked me to wait here while she gets it."

"Ah, c'est magnifique!" Lumiere said, clapping his hands together. "I hope that this will help you well on your campaign, Mademoise—"

"What is she doing in my house!" A sudden voice growled from above, deep and angry.

Lumiere seemed to cringe at the noise, his expression contorting to extreme worry, and he swiftly turned, taking a step in front of Belle as if to hide her.

"Master Best!" Lumiere began, a forced smile playing across his features. "You are feeling better I presu—"

"What is she _doing_ in here?" the man demanded again, his voice becoming louder, more angry.

Master Best! Belle listened to the rage in his voice, to the way he spoke to Lumiere, and anger slowly began to bubble within her. No one had the right to speak that way to anyone!

"Now you listen here—" Belle started, looking up to where the butler spoke, but when she saw him… her voice caught in her throat, becoming a shocked gasp. She clapped her hands over her mouth, looking away with her eyes shut against the world, but that image…

Master Best seemed little more than a monster, lurking upwards in the shadows… the dim light bathed half his body in a hellish glow, casting light upon a crouched back seemingly bent in permanence, swollen arms and hands, a face bandaged completely but for the mouth and a pair of eyes, glaring out from beneath the tightly wound swathes, intensely angry.

Why? For what reason in the world could he look that way…?

But Belle couldn't forever dwell upon that image, the sounds of Lumiere's hastened explanations and Master Best's angry interruptions once again alerting her to the situation. Belle looked back up, cringing slightly at the sight but slowly forcing herself desensitized. The man was looking at her, his gaze piercing her through like a lance, beholding her with eyes that shone with absolute hate. It felt as if he regarded her as evil, as if she had committed the greatest sin the moment she had stepped into his house. She was little more than an intruder.

"Master Best!"

Mrs. Potts burst suddenly from the twin doors at the end of the hall, stopping just beside Lumiere with her arms outstretched, looking like she were protecting Belle from bodily harm. Master Best turned his gaze on her, intermittently glancing at Belle, his anger far from dwindling.

"It wasn't her fault, sir, it was mine, completely," Mrs. Potts tried to assure him, her voice shaking in fear.

"You know _better_ than to let people in here!" Best exploded, his hands gripping the walkway railings so tight it seemed that the wood would splinter from the strength of his swollen fingers.

"I know, sir, I'm very sorry!" the old woman said, bowing her head in shame. "But, you see, she was trying to—"

"GET HER OUT OF HERE!" His words were loud, intense, deep, final. Belle jumped at the anger, hearing in it pain and sadness as well. Halfway there indeed… but that rage leapt at her the hardest, overwhelming those other feelings like a tsunami over eddies, and she found herself feeling not only fear but an opposing anger as well. Mrs. Potts and Lumiere seemed rather frightened themselves, but they said nothing, only nodded, bowing and apologizing to their master. Belle found herself wanting to scream at him, demand his manners, demand so many things, but Mrs. Potts had grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her out through the open entry door before any of her chastising words could reach Master Best's ears.

Outside, the snow had begun to fall again, softly flurrying downward onto the hills and dead trees. Mrs. Potts didn't let go off Belle until the both of them had struggled awkwardly down the set of stairs and stood beside the woman's car.

"That man!" Belle said finally, the moment she felt Mrs. Potts fingers slip from her wrist.

"Master Adam Best," Mrs. Potts said with a weary nod, leaning against the hood of her car as if to keep her from falling. She looked worried and upset herself. "I shouldn't have brought you here," the woman said, looking at Belle with large, guilty eyes. "It was a bad idea… but I so wanted to help with the campaign and…" The old woman's eyes grew wide, and she looked as if she wanted to hit herself. "I plumb forgot about the check! I was looking for my checkbook when I heard Master Best—oh dear!"

"No worries," Belle told her, not wanting to give the woman something else to worry about. She seemed close to having a heart attack! "If you want, I can drive here sometime this week to pick it up, it's not a problem."

Mrs. Potts looked at her as if she were crazy. "Are you sure about that? Master Best—"

"I don't mind at all," Belle said, determinedly. In fact, she wouldn't mind seeing this Master Adam Best again; if that man needed anything it was a good scolding… Mrs. Potts couldn't do it, Lumiere couldn't do it, but Belle… Servitude hadn't blinded her to humanity, to what people deserve, to what people need. People, including Mrs. Potts and Lumiere, didn't deserve to be stepped on and yelled at like that!

"Well… I suppose it'd be alright," Mrs. Potts said after a moment, still looking as if she considered it all a bad idea. "I won't be able to leave the mansion for the rest of the week, and I suppose…" She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "Well," she said finally, standing from the car's hood and extending a hand for Belle to shake, "I'll see you later, then?"

"Of course," Belle said. She gripped Mrs. Pott's hand tightly. She'd be back.

* * *

**And... that's it. It's been a while since I've written anything, so I apologize if anything seems shoddy or bad, and all that jazz. I hope I kept them in character... most of this was written when my brain was off somewhere being tired. Heh. Well, anyway, read it, like it, hate it, review it. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, Please!**


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